


You've Got Mail

by rangerhitomi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Discovering Technology, Domestic Barians, Gen, Post-canon Domestics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Durbe,” he said evenly, “it’s an email."</p><p>Durbe squinted his eyes. "What the hell is an email."</p><p>"It’s… mail people can send over the internet, instantly.”</p><p>Durbe nodded slowly, pensively, and gestured at the flashing pop-ups. “And… what is a Disneyworld?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Mail

For the (re)reincarnated human form of a crystalline being made of chaos energy who had, centuries before, been a knight who got around flying on the back of a horse with wings before dying near a South American temple (none of them had been able to work that one out), Durbe was acclimating to the modern human world better than Nasch anticipated.

He was a good student with a passion for learning, enjoyed watching sitcoms from the 1990s (“to learn modern human history”), and complained vehemently the first time Alit convinced him to try a beer, stating that it “tasted like horse piss.” He could cook about three palatable meals (a marked improvement over some of the things Nasch remembered Durbe eating in their first lives) and had, after a particularly tense incident involving a metal pan, figured out how to operate the microwave.

He also unfortunately _dressed_ like he was living in the 90s, listened to weird American indie music, drank so much coffee that Nasch was concerned he would never sleep properly again, and put onions in almost everything he ate.

 _I want you to tell me how what you’re wearing is better than what I’m wearing,_ he once demanded of Nasch (as if Durbe’s seafoam green scarf was somehow less of a fashion nightmare than Nasch’s embroidered jacket), and there had been at least one instance where he’d walked in on Durbe crying over the ending song after Gilag beat _Chrono Cross_ for the third time.

(‘ _One little feeling I wanted to hand over to you,’_ he quoted from the song and sobbed as Nasch awkwardly pet his shoulder and exchanged grimaces with Gilag.)

But none of Durbe’s weird, outdated mannerisms quite compared to the first time he discovered the internet.

Nasch was flipping idly through a book he probably should have read for class two weeks ago that he had a test over when he heard Durbe yell for him from the next room, sounding rather like he was being murdered. Nasch tensed up and ran to Durbe, who was sitting in front of the computer with his chair pushed away from the monitor. There were at least half a dozen pop-up ads, flashing CONGRATULATIONS! over and over in headache-inducing colors, so Nasch’s first thought was _how the hell did he turn off the pop-up blocker_ and his second thought was _what website is he even on._

“What the hell,” Nasch said, gesturing at the computer.

“It… it yelled at me,” Durbe whispered.

Nasch considered leaving the room and letting Durbe believe the computer was possessed or angry or sentient or whatever, but he took a deep breath instead and asked, “what did it say.”

“You have one new message.’”

Don Thousand had turned out to be a pretty shitty god, and Nasch wasn’t sure what the deity of choice in Astral World was, so he cast his solemn prayer for patience toward who or whatever would listen before sighing loudly.

“Durbe,” he said evenly, “it’s an email."

Durbe squinted his eyes. "What the _hell_ is an email."

"It’s… mail people can send over the internet, instantly.”

Durbe nodded slowly, pensively, and gestured at the flashing pop-ups. “And… what is a _Disneyworld_?”

(Naturally, Alit overheard Nasch explaining the concept of an amusement park to Durbe and assumed that meant they were planning on going, and before the evening was over, Nasch had made angry phone reservations for a two day vacation and absolutely forbade Vector from coming along.)

* * *

 

A few hours later, Nasch was in the kitchen cutting up vegetables for dinner when Durbe yelled for him again. After nearly slicing off his thumb, Nasch stormed into the office room, where Durbe sat at the computer watching some guy livestreaming a play through of a video game.

“ _What.”_

Durbe pointed at the corner of the screen. “I just wanted to let you know that you have one unread message.”


End file.
